


TMA Tumblr Ficlet Collection

by dedicatedfollower467



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Dermatillomania, Gen, Hair Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marijuana, One-Sided Attraction, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28795233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedicatedfollower467/pseuds/dedicatedfollower467
Summary: A collection of ficlets originally posted to my Tumblr. Fic is marked as complete, but I will continue to update as I write more.Chapter 1: Onesided S1 Jonmartin piningChapter 2: Original Elias BouchardChapter 3: Platonic JonDaisy Hurt/Comfort hair braiding.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Platonic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. JonMartin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Tumblr user customizablecharacter. Originally posted [here.](https://dedicatedfollower467.tumblr.com/post/640085205488648192/tma-prompt-i-was-so-lonely-loving-you)
> 
> Original prompt: "I was so lonely loving you."

Martin sometimes manages to forget just how much Jon despises him.

Like when they share a lunch break together, and Martin offers him a cup of tea and a biscuit, and they sit across the table from each other in what Martin wants to believe is a companionable silence. Or when Martin manages to do _something_ right, matches up to Jon’s exacting standards, and gets the briefest flash of approval. Or when Jon leaves the door to his office open, so that Martin can look straight in at him from his own desk, and watch him slowly twist and untwist a strand of hair around his pencil, lost in thought.

Martin can sit, and love Jon from afar, and feel, for just an instant, close to him.

Inevitably, it all comes crashing down. Martin messes something up, or interrupts something, or just is in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Jon snaps at him, or says something horrible about him into the tape recorder, behind his back, or complains to their coworkers and boss about Martin’s sloppy work, and it makes Martin feel smaller and less worthwhile than a grain of sand.

Today, he gets home from a grueling day at work, full of Jon’s snide remarks and callous scorn, and sits heavily down at his table, sighing deeply and glancing around at his drab, cheerless little kitchen, too small to comfortably accommodate more than one person. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a journal.

 _I was so lonely, loving you_ , he writes.

He doesn’t know where the poem goes from there. After several minutes staring at the remaining blank lines, he sighs and closes it, laying his down on his folded arms.

Martin often stands distant from the people around him, adrift in a world that always found him wanting; too big, too awkward, too dumb, too slow.

Is it any wonder he is still alone?


	2. Original Elias Bouchard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by anon. Originally posted [here.](https://dedicatedfollower467.tumblr.com/post/640245789728309248/original-elias)
> 
> Original prompt: "Original elias."

It used to be a joke, started all the way back in Year 10.

“Don’t ask Bouchard, he’s too stoned to notice anything.”

Elias didn’t mind. Laughing along with the joke meant that people liked him, slapped him on the back and passed the joint around and kept inviting him to parties.

The problem was, it wasn’t true.

Elias noticed _everything._

Sure, weed made his mind nice and floaty, so that he didn’t care about the things he noticed, but he still paid attention, and whenever the high wore off, the worry would kick in.

He saw the way Alex from Biochem would sneer at him when he thought Elias wasn’t looking, a look of pure disgust and frustration, no matter how sweet and friendly he seemed when they actually talked.

He saw the way Jackson’s fingers tapped when Elias talked, waiting for him to get the hint and shut the fuck up already.

He saw the way his teachers shook their heads, and the way his own father barely acknowledged him, and the way everyone around him looked at him with disappointment.

“If you’d only _apply_ yourself,” his mother would say, as if he hadn’t been trying his whole damn life.

Elias knew he was stupid. He’d been told it repeatedly since he was a child, between poor grades and his own parents making it clear that he was a less-than-ideal son. He’d gone through his whole life knowing that he was being judged, and found wanting.

Nowhere was that feeling of judgment, of being _watched_ , stronger than at the Magnus Institute. Even with the pot, Elias had a feeling he was going to have a nervous breakdown in the next few weeks.

Curiously, though, it was also the only place where he’d ever experienced something approaching _approval._

“Ah, Mr. Bouchard,” James Wright, the director, had said, leaning across the desk to shake his hand. There was a twinkle of excitement in his eye, that Elias didn’t think he’d ever seen directed at _him_ before.

“I think you’ll be a _perfect_ fit for us.”


	3. Jon + Daisy, Platonic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Discord user nicknamed Rachel. Originally posted [here.](https://dedicatedfollower467.tumblr.com/post/640492770412347392/photo-id-screencap-of-a-discord-message-from-a)
> 
> Original prompt: "I have a h/c request, if you don’t mind? Chunks of Jon’s hair are starting to fall out. One of the members of the archives team (not especially picky about who) tries to help him braid it."

Jon isn’t actually sure when his hair started falling out?

He’s been… distracted, to say the least. He’s certain he could simply _Know_ when he started losing so much hair, but for once, the Eye doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill his mind with useless and terrifying information.

So instead, Jon has to deal with staring down at fistfuls of hair every time he runs his hands over his head.

Jon’s in the middle of his office, and absentmindedly pulls a chunk of hair out again. He’s about to sigh and dump it in the bin, when he hears a quiet sound, possibly a gasp.

Startled, he looks up, staring around at the source of the noise.

Daisy looks at his hand, the chunk of hair, and then flicks her eyes up the to quickly thinning hair on his head.

He resists the urge to rub his neck nervously, because he’ll just lose _more_ hair that way.

“I–” he starts, and then can’t find a way to finish the sentence.

Daisy crosses the room, takes his hand in her own, and pulls the loose strands from between his fingers. “How long have you been losing hair, Jon?” she asks, quietly.

Jon just shrugs, helplessly.

She looks at the edge of his receding hairline. “You look awful.”

Jon laughs, more harshly than he’d intended. “ _You’re_ one to talk.”

It’s true. Her time in the Buried and her lack of contact with the Hunt has left her weak, fragile, skinny. The dark circles under her eyes keep growing, and her pallor worsens every day. But he didn’t need to say it like _that_ , so thoughtlessly.

Daisy just smiles sadly, and runs a hand through her own hair, which seems limp and lifeless compared to just a year ago. “I know,” she says. “I just – is there a way I can help?”

Jon just sits down on the edge of his desk, lets go of the folder he was holding. “Unless you have a magical power to make my hair regrow, I doubt it.”

Her eyes squint with amusement. “You know, there’s probably a statement about something like that.”

Jon snorts. “Probably.”

“Have you thought about braiding it?” Daisy says. “It might at least stop you from running your hands through it.”

“I’m fairly certain putting any kind of pressure on it at all will rip it right out of my scalp,” Jon says.

Daisy cocks her head. “If you were gentle with it…”

Jon stares up at her. “Are you… offering?”

She shrugs. “If you like.”

There’s a moment of silence while Jon thinks about it. Then he turns and sinks down into the desk chair, nodding.

“I don’t have one of those hair thingies on me,” he says, gesturing vaguely.

Daisy moves behind him, so he can’t see her anymore. “I do.”

It’s… It’s a little nerve-wracking, having Daisy behind him, standing while he is seated. There’s an abrupt moment of almost-panic where his heart starts to beat wildly, and his palms grow slick with sweat. Even without her connection to the Hunt, something in the back of his head screams, _You’re in danger!_

The scar across his throat pulses with remembered pain, and he swallows.

Then Daisy’s fingers brush over his head. He tenses, shoulders going up, and she pauses for a second, a momentary standoff in which both of them _know_ that she’s just trying to help, but that he’ll never truly be able to trust her.

He’ll never truly be able to forgive her.

Deliberately, Jon breathes out, and relaxes his shoulders. Daisy lets out a tiny sigh of her own, and begins to plait his hair.

Once he manages to get over the instinctive terror, it’s soothing. At first, a few strands do pull away in her fingers, but after a bit she seems to reach the perfect level of delicacy, in which she can move his hair without tearing it out. It’s surprisingly nice, the feeling of fingers over his scalp, gentle and warm.

After a minute or two, he realizes that tears are beading at the corners of his eyes. It takes him a little bit to figure out why, because he’s not in _pain_ , there’s no reason for him to be crying…

He just hasn’t been touched, gently, by another human being, in a long, long time, and the feeling is overwhelming. Good, but overwhelming.

Jon doesn’t know how long it takes. He loses himself in the rhythm of Daisy’s fingers moving in his hair, the quiet, relaxed sound of her breathing. His eyes slid shut some time ago without him realizing, and he could almost fall asleep like this.

Daisy lets out a larger sigh. “Done,” she says, and steps back.

Jon reaches up and runs his hand over the bumpy texture of the braid. The hair doesn’t pull away in his fingers.

He turns around. “Thank you.”

Daisy shrugs. “Anytime, Jon.”

She walks back over to whatever she was doing beforehand, and Jon runs his hands over the braid again. It’s entirely possible that _all_ his hair will fall out tonight when he removes it, but for now, it works.

Maybe he’ll ask her to braid it again tomorrow.


End file.
